Reviewing a live performance of Bruckner’s Eighth Symphony
in Singapore last week, Chang Tou Liang took time to complain about the
applause. It seems that, even before the
final strains of this majestic work had died away, there was the usual chorus
of impetuous screams and ululations more appropriate to goal-line success on
the soccer field than a considered response to an intellectually and
emotionally challenging work of art. Tou
Liang considered this to be an example of “crass one-upmanship”; and I know
exactly what he means.
One of the reasons I have described Singapore’s classical
music scene as Provincially Amateurish is because of the presence in most
audiences of a few self-appointed clever people who assume the majority of the
audience lives in ignorance and needs to be led to applaud at the right
moment. Their assumption may or may not
be correct, but it certainly implies that some Singaporeans, at least, regard
their fellows as provincially amateurish and in need of elucidation when it
comes to classical music.
The result, of course, is not only wildly inappropriate
applause – standing ovations for mediocre performances, cat-calls and whistles
for a sublime clarinet solo in Mozart, tribal ululations for a cultured Viennese
symphony – but, in a determination to get in first at all costs (presumably to
show the perpetrator is not provincially amateurish) actually interrupting the
end of the work with the applause.
Music, we should all know, begins in silence, ends in silence and achieves
beauty only by its continual reference to silence. Get rid of the silence and you destroy the
beauty.
Commenting on inappropriate applause in this blog a while
back, Kevin Thompson came up with this intriguing observation; “Breaking into a
percussive, cacophonous noise seems so wrong in that situation. It's fine for sporting events and rousing
speeches, but isn't there more harmonious way to express ourselves after a
sublime and subtle musical performance?”
Certainly applause can be annoying, especially if you are
one of those people (which I am not) who boils with rage whenever a couple of
hands meet between movements in a concerto, or one who (as I do) likes to bask
in a moment of reflected wonder when a great performance comes to its end. But when all is said and done, applause is
the life-blood of performing musicians who need it to keep their artistic
antennae properly honed. Performing
musicians and critics are adept at recognising the hidden agenda behind an
audience’s applause. We can, for
example, readily identify the genuine from the polite, the ecstatic from the
raucous. We recognise the screams of
those who crave the attention of those on stage – either because they are
friends or heroes – and identify the unconscious yell spurred on by sheer
admiration.
As ever, that brilliant author Alexander McCall Smith puts
it in a beautiful way when describing an audience’s response to a new work in his
charming novel The Comforts of a Muddy Saturday.
“People could smile with relief at the end of an unsatisfactory piece, and even
applause could be provoked by sheer joy at being released from something one
does not like”. More amusingly, Smith
makes this wry observation when the new work in question ends on an unresolved
chord; “If a composer does not resolve a piece then the applause should be
similarly incomplete. One hand would be aimed at the other, but would stop
short of actual contact; unresolved clapping”.
I love the idea! I’ll
try it next time, and while it certainly will not offend my neighbours, it
could, I imagine, incur the wrath of those around me who like to feel clever
and recognise in a piece of unutterable rubbish the seeds of non-existent
greatness.
Oh dear, what a stickler I've become! The vocal ejaculations of "Bravo!" for the Bruckner, vociferous as the performance deserved, just came too soon. It shattered the short moment of silence (and reflection) the wonderful ending deserved.
ReplyDeleteWhat is equally maddening is the lack of applause for a good performance, and that happens strangely in some Singapore Chinese Orchestra concerts, where a soloist's efforts gets short shrift. I remember a performance of Ravel's Piano Concerto in G (yes, suonas took the place of oboes) when the applause just stopped the moment the pianist left the piano. Didn't the audience like the performance, or were they bewildered by the arrangement, or they just did not bother to applaud a performance they did not understand? Very embarassing, and very strange. (Of course, they cheered with great delight after the Yellow River Concerto that followed!)
Singapore is not unique Marc. Last week I attended Wagner's Ring cycle at the Met and four orchestral concerts at Carnegie Hall in New York City. In all eight instances clapping and wailing began before the end of each work.
ReplyDeleteIn the case of opera, the applause often starts the moment the curtain begins to come down - it can be better not to drop the curtain at all but to black out the stage. In concerts, the conductor and soloists keeping their arms raised might indicate that it's not over yet.
ReplyDeleteI remember a performance of Norma in Florence many years ago when several members of the audience loudly shushed anyone who bellowed or started clapping prematurely - it effectively silenced the clappers but the shushing was almost as distracting!